To Speak of Grace
by Veronique Roux
Summary: A violent battle results in the reveal of Merlin's magic. In the aftermath, all he has is a broken trust and blood on his hands, while Arthur is left with a choice to make. Everything is about to change, and not necessarily for the better. Reveal!fic, spoilers up to 5x11.
1. In Which A Question Isn't Answered

**I don't own Merlin.  
**

* * *

The messenger's heels clacked against stone floors. He jumped every time a shadow twitched, and with good reason. It was a castle, filled with the kind of darkness achieved by centuries without light, and it appeared to be deserted.

He knew better.

He wasn't a sorcerer himself, but he knew magic when he saw it, and magic clung to this place. It was slathered on the walls, slicking the floor, reaching out with thin fingers to tap him on the shoulder, and he wondered, not for the first time, why anyone would remain in such a place by choice. Just the feel of it was enough to make him want to run as fast as he possibly could in the opposite direction.

But he had a job to do, and he never backed out on a job, not when there was good money to be made.

"_Who are you?"_

It took the messenger a moment to realize the words hadn't been spoken aloud. It was inside his head. No one else was there.

Not sure if this meant insanity, danger, or both, he swallowed harshly and held his ground. "I come from the southern kingdoms, m-my lady. Lord Mordred sent me."

There was a long pause. _"And?"_

"H-he told me to tell you, my lady, that the package has been obtained."

Torches flickered to light, mounted all along the walls. The only sound was the soft swish of soft fabric on stone.

"Is that it?"

The messenger leapt halfway out of his skin as he turned around. Directly behind him stood the infamous Lady Morgana Pendragon, just a terribly beautiful as he'd been told. Her hair was matted with dirt from the months, possibly years, that it had been left unattended. The firelight glinted in her dark eyes; stark shadows accentuated the angles of her thin face, making her look even more deathly pale.

"Y-yes, lady. That is all."

"Good."

He didn't even catch a glimpse of her bejeweled dagger before she slipped it in between his ribs.

xXx

Morgana left the nameless man lying there on the floor, choking on his own blood. It would take a little while for his feet to stop twitching, and she wasn't in the mood to watch.

For the moment, she needed to speak with her associate, but without a quick way to get a message through, Morgana decided it could wait until he arrived with their prize. And what a prize it would be.

She'd sent Mordred off nearly two weeks ago; so all in all, he'd worked quickly and efficiently. Not that he would hear any such thing from her. Mordred had a high enough opinion of himself without her bolstering his ego.

Morgana sneered to herself and she slipped through the gargantuan wooden doors into the age-old throne room. Mordred was a problem that she couldn't afford to get rid of. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't very comfortable working with a sorcerer that was so much more powerful than her. She was a high priestess of the Triple Goddess; wasn't she supposed to be the best of the best? But alas, characters seemed to walk straight out of myth, like Mordred and the ever-elusive Emrys, and compared to them, her own prowess was laughable.

And Emrys, another thorn in her side. Well, admittedly, he was a rather large thorn, but still just a thorn. But not for much longer. If Mordred spoke the truth, and Emrys hid somewhere in Camelot, than he would be revealed when they attacked, and with any luck, they would do away with him without much difficulty.

Morgana did suspect that Mordred wasn't sharing all he knew on that topic, but she was in no position to interrogate him. It wasn't that she was scared of him; high priestesses do not get _scared_. She owed him, and he her, and such suspicions would wreck their tentative alliance just before their plight bore the fruit they so hoped for.

They were so close. All she had to do was tolerate Mordred, and soon she wouldn't be sitting on this cobweb-covered throne in an abandoned castle in the middle of nowhere. She would sit on the throne Arthur had stolen right out from under her, and the citizens of Camelot would be at her command.

* * *

Merlin was missing. Again.

Arthur wasn't worried. He refused to be worried, especially when Merlin had most likely gotten lost in a tavern once again. Or knowing him, perhaps he was lost in the castle.

Either way, Merlin was gone and Arthur wasn't worried.

On the first day that Merlin hadn't come to wake him up, Arthur had stormed into Merlin's bedroom to drag him out of bed the way Merlin so frequently did to Arthur, only to find it uninhabited. Gaius was nowhere to be found, so Arthur left and waited for the pesky manservant to turn up.

On the second day, Arthur mentioned it to Leon. He was very offhanded about it, naturally. It wasn't anything to make a big deal of. He prided himself on the level of casualty he'd displayed.

On the third day, he asked Gaius about it. Gaius avoided his eyes and said that Merlin was in town. "For two and a half days?" Arthur had asked. Apparently, yes, for two and a half days, but no, he wasn't in the tavern.

On the fourth day, he'd mentioned it to Guinevere. That wasn't his best idea. She began to panic, and for some silly reason, she seemed to think he was worried as well, which was an embarrassment to both of them. It was just Merlin. Why would he worry about Merlin? When he'd asked her this, all she'd said was, "Because it's Merlin." There really was no suitable reply to that, so he'd just scowled.

It was the fifth day that Merlin was absent, and there was a young boy whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember was fetching his bathwater. He didn't see how the child's name was important; he was only filling in for Merlin. Arthur was certain that Merlin would be back, so even if Merlin was worth worrying over, Arthur wouldn't be worried because obviously Merlin would return, probably within the day, if not within the hour.

On the sixth day, the morning passed without incident. The patrols had nothing to report. Merlin hadn't been found, they told him. He was just gone, without a trace. Not that he'd actually _asked_ them to report specifically on whether or not Merlin had turned up; they just happened to do so, and Arthur really couldn't have imagined why.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, Merlin stumbled more than walked into Arthur's chambers, Arthur's lunch precariously balanced on his left hand.

"Well, it's about time. How long can it really take to carry one tray up from the kitchen? Feels like I've been waiting for…days…," he mused, voice slowly fading as he spoke. Something felt off. Was he missing something? It couldn't be anything very important; he was the king, after all, and kings don't forget important things.

Merlin did look a little tired, he noticed. Even thinner than usual, if that were possible.

And then he remembered.

Arthur shot out of his seat. "_Merlin!_"

The servant gave a shaky smirk. "Yes, sire. I even saved some of your lunch for you."

Striding over to stand in front of him, the king surveyed his subject. "Put the tray down, would you?"

He set it down on the table, and Arthur immediately preceded to slap him as hard was humanly possible on the back of the head.

"You _idiot_! Do you have any idea how worried," he paused a beat, "_Guinevere_ was? I've half a mind to throw you in the stocks for a month. Explain yourself."

"Got lost."

"Where?"

"Well, that's kind of the problem, Arthur, I don't know _where_."

Arthur glared.

"Well, if that's it…" He took a step back in the general direction of the door, and his foot caught on the leg of the table. All Arthur really knew was that one second, Merlin stood in front of him, and the next, he was fully out of his line of vision and lying spread-eagled on the floor.

"Augh…"

Arthur looked towards the ceiling for a moment, running through all the things he could say at that particular moment. After careful consideration, he just shook his head.

"Moron…"

The king grabbed his lunch, which was half eaten by then (courtesy of Merlin), turned on his heel, and took a seat at this desk. By the time he looked back up, Merlin had disappeared.

_Odd, _Arthur thought rather disinterestedly, _I didn't hear the door._

xXx

Merlin woke Arthur only half an hour late the following morning, which was basically a new record for him. Arthur had a busy enough day ahead of him that he didn't actively attempt to score his revenge on Merlin for his brief disappearance, but the manservant knew that he was by no means forgiven.

The emotion that Arthur hated, possibly the most of any, was worry, and although the king wouldn't admit it, Merlin wasn't deluded enough to believe that Arthur hadn't been worried.

Merlin hadn't _wanted_ to leave for a week; it had been a necessary evil. And no, he had not gotten lost. Arthur may be oblivious at the best of times, but even he didn't believe that. What had started out as a perfectly innocent excursion to track down a patch of yarrow had quickly grown more complicated when he ran discovered a reeking, mutilated corpse hanging from a tree like a piñata at a child's birthday party.

He'd pinpointed a bloody trail of bodies, leading northwest and seeming unstoppable. He summoned Aithusa, and with the help of the young dragon, who was much more humble and willing to be treated a bit like a horse than the late Kilgarrah, he made good time.

By the time he realized he'd been led into Cenred's territory, it was too late. He never found the source of the dead (although he had his suspicions), but he did find a rather murderous pack of bandits, and they couldn't have been more pleased that he did.

Luckily, he only spent two days in their captivity, but he by no means made it out unscathed. Cuts and bruises peppered his entire abdomen, and Gaius had carefully taped at least two broken ribs.

Overall, he was exhausted, sore, and generally felt like death warmed over. Arthur's irritation did nothing to improve his mood, nor did the many, many perks that came with it.

Sword practice, for instance. Merlin was elected to be the target.

Gwaine's blade crashed down on the rather flimsy practice shield, jarring every bone in Merlin's body, and from the sympathy in the knight's eyes, Merlin had a feeling that this was him going easy.

All it took was one heavy blow to the side of the shield to unbalance him, and Merlin toppled over, landing face first in the dirt.

A low groan escaped his throat as he planted his hands in the ground on either side of him, attempting less-than-successfully to push himself up.

"Merlin?"

A hand on his shoulder jostled his injured ribs, and gritted his teeth as he allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position.

"Merlin? Sorry, mate, that was a cheap shot, you alright?"

"Gwaine, move." A pause. "Merlin? Get to Gaius's chambers; you look a little…off. Merlin?"

Merlin brushed Arthur off, frowning with a touch of annoyance. "No, I'm fine, I just slipped."

Arthur rolled his eyes, disregarding him completely. "Percival, take him to Gaius's chambers and see to it that he stays there."

"What? That's ridiculous, I'm right as rain. Just give me the shield, I'm—" He stopped midsentence as the sparring yard pitched before his eyes when he tried to stand up. Percival grabbed his arm. "Alright, alright, I'll go…" he agreed petulantly.

Arthur looked after him slightly concernedly. Just what on earth had Merlin been getting up to? If whatever it was could get the manservant into such a state that he couldn't handle a routine training session, Arthur at least could be sure that he didn't like it. Not one bit.

Merlin didn't arrive to wake Arthur until lunch time the next day. Arthur smiled slightly to himself as he looked over at his curtained windows and listened to the doors to his chambers slam open as they usually did. Not only was Merlin late, but he was being rude about it.

All was well.

"Rise and shine, your lordship! I'm afraid you're going to have to rush; due to unforeseen circumstances, you were woken just a bit late and your council meeting starts in ten minutes. Come on, get up." Merlin tore one of Arthur's pillows out from under his head and struck him over the head with it. Next went the blanket, causing Arthur to mumble in protest as the cold air hit his body.

"Arthur!"

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm comi…" He gave up on speech halfway through the word.

"No, you're not, you prat. Get up." Again with the pillow.

When Arthur didn't respond, he heard footsteps drawing away from the bed, and for a moment, he actually thought Merlin may have given up, and he grabbed for his second pillow so he could get back to unconsciousness…only to find it was gone as well. A moment later, two cold hands latched onto his ankles, and one tug later, Arthur was on the floor.

"Merlin, what the _hell?_"

"No disrespect meant, _sire_," although if the derisive way he said 'sire' it was more of an insult than anything else, "but get the hell up. I…will go get your breakfast now. Try to get dressed, if you can."

"You _forgot_ my breakfast"

"I didn't forget it, _Arthur._ I just left it behind for…theatricality."

"_What?_"

"Well, it wouldn't be all that dramatic if I just _had _it, would it? It's all about presentation. That's basically the first rule in the servant's handbook."

"Merlin, you wouldn't know the first thing about what a 'servant's handbook' is—assuming that that even exists."

"Well, that's a little unfair. Maybe I have one and I just didn't bother to read it. Maybe I skimmed it, you never know. I'm a busy man; I can't just read a whole book on something as useless as how to be a good servant."

Arthur shook his head, glaring at him even as his lips started to twitch into a grin. "Just fetch me my breakfast, Merlin. I'll dress myself; I'm not completely helpless."

Merlin turned towards the door, muttering exactly what he thought of that proclamation under his breath.

A silver goblet struck the wall just next to his head.

"I _heard_ that, idiot. Now get out or the next time I won't miss."

Merlin gave a mocking salute and disappeared from view.

Arthur frowned as he looked at his trousers, for two reasons. Firstly, he had little to no idea as to how he was expected to put them on. He didn't understand why Guinevere and Merlin teased him so about that; they were very complicated things. One leg has to go in one side and the other in the other, and how exactly is a man supposed to know which is which? And then if he puts them on backwards, he's ridiculed unless he corrects it. How is he to know if it's wrong? Maybe they're just not comfortable trousers.

But that was most likely the more trivial problem.

He still had no idea where Merlin had been all week. Merlin seemed to like to think that Arthur had accepted that Merlin 'got lost' but Arthur realized that even Merlin wasn't that stupid. He'd have liked to put it out of his mind, but Merlin was just so…strange about it.

Something was wrong, and Arthur fully intended to find out what.

* * *

**So, I'd like to think of this as my tribute to the series. The finale was perfection. It was painful, but it was perfect. It's terrible that it's over, but at least we still have our fanfiction, right?**

**I guess this is kind of an alternate ending to the series. I started writing it before 5x12 aired, and I have the general plotline mapped out, so hopefully updates will be relatively regular. Thanks for reading!  
**


	2. Of Magic and Death

Merlin loved magic.

It wasn't just the things it did for him and his allies, though he supposed that was part of it. It was the rush in his ears and the heat in his veins; it was the light in his eyes and the seething, limitless expanse of power that was so easily within his reach.

To most of Camelot, Merlin was nothing. He was a servant, a nobody, unremarkable. The eyes of those who were judged to be more important slid past him without truly seeing him. Even his friends knew that he was, whether they believed it or not, beneath them. That was one of the things he truly hated about Camelot.

With his magic, however, he was Emrys. He was a man to be feared, respected, and above all, he was well known. Emrys, the warlock. Emrys, the sorcerer. Emrys, the most powerful of all.

But for that particular moment, he was just Merlin. Stupid, stupid Merlin.

Over a month had passed since his unplanned excursion into Cenred's kingdom. Arthur had, with some reluctance, stopped interrogating him about it, but it wasn't forgotten, and the king's overly attentive eyes were somehow annoying and endearing at the same time.

Gold flared as Merlin allowed the dripping rag to slip from his grasp, and it continued to scrub the floor of Arthur's chambers by itself, much to the warlock's relief. Under the gaze of an irritatingly observant nobleman during a very official dinner the night before, Merlin had been forced to stand ramrod straight with an increasingly heavy jug of wine in his right hand. And, because it was more proper, he hadn't been permitted to switch it to the other hand. The dinner had dragged on for far longer than Merlin was happy with, and he'd woken up the next morning with a badly aching back.

His tormentor was the Lord Wallington of Tournay. He was a short, thin man with very little hair and eyes that were large enough to look freakish and irises that had little more color than a glass of water. His skin was pale enough to be nearly translucent; his veins were dark and easily visible against the stark white.

The Lord was uptight and very strict with servants in general, and so it hadn't taken him long to pinpoint Merlin as the insubordinate and beautifully incompetent manservant that he was. He had made it his personal mission to set Merlin right, and Arthur looked on with an unashamed touch of glee.

The unfortunate thing about the use of magic to complete chores is that the moment anyone walks in, one must immediately cease and desist, which at times is easier said than done. When Arthur walked in, a bucket of soapy water floated midair just over Arthur's bed—the only place that Merlin could be certain that he wouldn't knock his head on it—and the cloth was drawing figure eights on the floor. When the door started to open, Merlin didn't consider such things before breaking the enchantment.

Arthur was simply overjoyed to find that Merlin had taken the initiative to throw a bucket full of soapy water onto the king's bed. So overjoyed that he volunteered Merlin to muck out the stables as soon as he was finished with drying out the mattress and changing the sheets.

xXx

So no, Merlin was not completely forgiven for his disappearance, even after a month passed. Arthur had quickly gotten over Merlin having worried him; not that Arthur would admit it, but Merlin's reappearance was enough of a repayment for that misdemeanor. Arthur was displeased because Merlin was blatantly lying to him, and honestly seemed to think that Arthur was stupid enough not to have noticed.

Arthur had stopped openly asking about what had happened during Merlin's six and a half day absence a few weeks back. He was hoping to catch the manservant by surprise with an attack question, but so far, the opportunity hadn't arisen, and truth be told, he wasn't sure what to ask.

And also, subtlety wasn't his area of expertise. Sneaking a question on someone for him usually was just asking a question. _He_ thought he was being subtle and effective, but Arthur's perception of himself was not particularly relatable to the way other people perceived him. Arthur's perception was generally a bit more positive.

And yes, the king was displeased enough to allow the Lord of Tournay to antagonize Merlin just a bit. That was something Arthur usually would not stand for, not that Merlin needed to know that Arthur would ever take such action in his defense. No, Merlin didn't need to know that at all. And he had every intention of stepping in if Lord Wallington attempted to actually initiate disciplinary actions. He just wanted to let Merlin flail a bit beforehand.

It's not like he didn't deserve it, lying to Arthur like that. Merlin doesn't lie to Arthur, he just _doesn't_. Perhaps he doesn't always tell the truth, but Merlin rarely lied, and if he did, Arthur could quickly draw out the truth with a bit of prodding and a few queries about Merlin's mental wellbeing. He always got the truth though. At this point, he knew Merlin, and Merlin him, too well for either to be able to successfully tell a lie.

Well, or so he thought, but that would come later.

* * *

"I thought it'd be…bigger."

Mordred gave Morgana a critical look. "Why?"

She glared, sensing the humor in his gaze. This was no place for _laughing_. "Well, it's not very impressive like this," she shot back with a touch of menace.

"It's not meant to be impressive, it's meant to be effective. It gets the job done."

"I suppose it will have to do, then."

In front of them was a stone. It wasn't especially large, nor was it very colorful. It was just…a rock. Black opaque and awfully nondescript. The power flowed off of it in waves, but to anyone but a sorcerer—or sorceress—it would just look like…a rock.

What it looked like didn't matter, she decided momentarily. If it wanted to be a depressingly small rock, so be it. That stupid little rock would bring down an empire. She wouldn't even have to throw it at anyone.

She was glad for that. That could be a little embarrassing.

"Are you ready?"

Morgana glanced at her associate. "I suppose."

"Then let us begin."

They joined hands and began to chant.

* * *

The boy couldn't have possibly been more than nine or ten, but there was a certain kind of maturity in his eyes that could only be achieved through seeing the type of horror that stains a person's consciousness and plagues their dreams.

This child, so young was he, had been through hell and lived to speak of it.

He sat in a trembling heap on a low bench outside of the kitchens, a blanket wrapped around his narrow shoulders. His wide eyes bored blankly into air ahead of him, staring at something that only he could see. A wooden cup of water was loosely grasped in his left hand. As Merlin watched, his fingers slackened and the cup dropped to clatter against the stone tiles. Only then did he move, his head twitching downwards to view the source of the sound. The cup rolled further and further away, and he made no move to stop it.

The water streamed towards a lower point in the grounds of the courtyard in a web of intersecting rivulets. With the firelight reflecting off of it, it looked almost like blood, but Merlin shook off that disturbingly morbid thought.

"He's an odd one, ain't 'e?"

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin. Mileon stood beside him, leaning slightly around the corner to watch the boy as well.

Mileon was even younger than Merlin had been when he first arrived in Camelot, but he'd been working in the palace kitchens since he was just a boy. His mother had been a scullery maid; he'd practically grown up in the castle. He had all but attached himself to Merlin's side since the first time they met, and his raw optimism and endearing naiveté made it impossible for Merlin to send him away.

"D'you know what he's doing here?" Merlin asked after a moment.

"Maisy says his village was attacked. She reckons he's the only survivor. He's getting an audience with His Majesty. You'll probably be in there," he added enviously, "So you better tell me what he says."

"Don't get excited. Arthur might have me mucking out the stables again."

Mileon snorted. "Nothing unusual there."

Merlin hummed in agreement.

"MILEON!" Cook's voice echoed raggedly down the hall. Both winced at the sound.

"Guess I should be going," Mileon told him with a slightly trembling smile. Merlin understood; Cook was a fearsome woman at the best of times, and she sounded angry. He gripped the younger man's shoulder reassuringly for a moment before allowing him to leave.

Cook tugged him forward as soon as he was within reach and struck him with her open palm before loudly beginning to scold him. Merlin's mouth hardened into a tight line, but he had long since learnt better than to intervene. He turned away to walk back to Arthur's chambers.

"Um…"

The little boy grabbed for his hand. His small hands were icy, and his nails bitten down to stubs. Merlin hadn't been able to tell from the angle he'd been at before, but he had a bruise under his eye and blood dripped sluggishly from a cut on his cheek.

"Will I be able to s-speak with the king soon? It's important, C-Camelot isn't safe, he needs…he needs to…I need to speak with him."

Merlin carefully led the boy back to his bench and replaced the water cup in his hand; a whispered word and a flash of gold refilled it.

"I'm sure he'll see you soon. He's very busy. It will be alright. Everything will be just fine," Merlin reassured him unsurely.

"No, no, you don't understand. I don't have much time; I need to see him _now_."

"What do you mean you don't have much…?"

The boy coughed weakly; Merlin trailed off when he saw the blood that came off on his hand. "You're hurt."

"No, it isn't important. I need to see the king, I need to see him now, _please…_"

"Just a bit longer. I promise."

Not sure what else to do, Merlin sat with him for a few more minutes. He was clearly in some sort of pain, but he refused to submit to an examination, and Merlin was having trouble finding any wounds on him.

The closest servant, an elderly butler named Silban, walked away with a goblet of wine in hand, leaving the two for the most part alone. The boy leaned forward, his hand fisting in Merlin's tunic.

"_Camelot is in danger, Emrys. They are coming_."

His voice was scarcely above a whisper. Merlin locked eyes with him. "What?"

"_Beware. It is not as it seems."_ The boy's sleeve dropped back a little, revealing a spiraling tattoo.

Druid markings.

Those were his last words. The boy couldn't have been more than seven years old. No one had even bothered to ask him his name.

xXx

"And that's all he said?"

"For the tenth time, Arthur, _yes_. That is all he told me."

"Are you _absolutely_ certain? I don't care if you didn't think it was of importance. Is there anything else he said?"

Merlin glared. "That is _it._ I promise you. That's all."

Arthur crumpled into a chair, his energy seemingly leaving along with his anger. "What does that even mean? If only I'd gotten out of that _stupid_ council meeting. It wasn't even important we were talking about the tax on juice products…"

"Juice products are taxed now? Dammit…"

"Merlin! I don't think that the price of your choice breakfast drink is the _issue_ right now."

"Well, don't be ridiculous. You can drink juice at more times than just breakfast, it's an all-day activity, Arthur."

Arthur glared.

"Well, blimey. Alright, then. Just trying to help."

"_Well, you're not!" _ he exclaimed emphatically.

Merlin backtracked, shoving down the prickling of annoyance. "I'm sorry, my lord."

"No, don't be." The king dropped his head into his hands. "Shouldn't have gotten angry. And don't call me that."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite alright, Arthur?"

"Shut up." There was a beat of silence. "Guinevere told me to be nicer to you, alright? No, shut up, Merlin, _shut up_. I ignored her and she somehow found out so I'm just doing it. Don't look so smug; I'm not doing it for you."

"Of course you aren't, my lord."

"I meant that one, though. Don't call me that."

"What? I've been doing that to appease you for years, and I didn't have to? It's your official title. That was me being _polite_."

_I just don't see why my friends should have to use my 'official title'. _No, he wouldn't be saying any such thing. It would only go to Merlin's head. "It's pretentious."

"_You're_ pretentious," Merlin muttered under his breath.

"Heard that."

"You were supposed to." A pause. "Am I excused?"

"Officially, yes. Unofficially, no, come over here."

"But if it's unofficial…can't I ignore it?"

"_Fine._ I take it back, officially, _no_, come over here."

"_Prat_."

"Heard that, too."

"Again, Arthur. You were _supposed_ to. Now what is it?" He took a seat beside him at the table.

"What do you think I should do?"

"Uh…am I really the one to ask?"

"I know, I thought that too. But there's no one else here, so what should I do?"

"Alright. I have a three-step plan prepared, and I'll tell you, but you mustn't interrupt."

"Agreed. What is it?"

Merlin stared at his king. "What do you think I do with my time, Arthur? I don't organize plans for every situation you might come upon in advance."

"But you always…"

"I always what?"

"I don't know. You just…you always know what to do."

Merlin laughed humorlessly. "Trust me, I don't."

Arthur gave a decidedly cynical chuckle. "Yeah, neither do I."

They sat in silence.


	3. War and Peace

"I think they turned out rather well, don't you?"

Morgana glanced over at her associate. "I suppose. A bit unsightly."

"But where would the wow factor be if they looked anything less than vomit worthy? This will help. This will throw them off."

The High Priestess snorted in an oddly dignified way. "It's an army of the undead, Mordred. I think they'd be thrown off either way."

Their soldiers stood at attention before them, backs straight and eyes forward. Well, at least, those of them who had eyes looked forward. Many were just left with rotting sockets. Some of the more grotesque specimens still had maggots wriggling in the empty spaces.

Such is what is left behind once Time takes her dues.

The corpses spread before the pair had once been the armies of the dreaded Faran the Fearsome. These days, Faran was a ghost story; a legend that parents told their children to teach them to never venture beyond the reaches of Albion. No one believed in him anymore, but that did not make him any less real.

Faran the Fearsome started out the way most villains do; as a royal. Raised in a life of privilege and shelter, he was cast out into the cold after an unremembered happening between him and his father, King Jeremias of Fairbourne. Unable to return to Albion, he ventured far and wide. It's rumored he travelled as far as the Eastern Kingdoms, but no one remembers anymore what exists in those lands. Most believe it's just barren wasteland.

No one knows what he did in his time away from Albion. Years later, though, he returned with a vast army. They were ruthless and unstoppable; no man, woman, or child that crossed their path lived to tell of it.

They conquered much of Albion, until King Hektor Pendragon of Camelot managed to assassinate Farlan. Without their commander, the troops fell into disarray and were quickly done away with by Hektor's army.

Yet here they stood.

"Yes…they'll do wonderfully."

Mordred could hear the smirk in her voice. "Didn't I tell you?"

Morgana gave him a disparaging look, but it was lacked the venom she might have put behind it. "We march at dawn."

"We'd do good to make sure Arthur doesn't hear of our arrival until it's too late for him. His army won't stand either way, but why not make it easy?"

The Priestess frowned. "It is not the army I'm worried about."

"Emrys."

"Who else?" She folded her hands neatly behind her back, and began to pace. "He's foiled me so many times. He must be close to the king but… Mordred, you can't keep me in the dark forever. If we're truly allies, surely you can give up this one bit of information."

Mordred smiled tightly. He had long since learned that information is not only power; it is security. The moment Morgana had what she needed from him he'd have to start watching his back, for surely she'd be waiting to stab it. "In time, my lady. And don't worry yourself. Emrys will not be of any trouble."

"I fear you underestimate him."

Mordred's mouth hardened into a thin line. "Perhaps."

Far below them, the general turned to look up at the battlements and raised his decaying hand in a ghostly salute.

The soldiers of Faran the Fearsome will conquer Albion once again.

* * *

Camelot was always peaceful in the mornings.

Merlin wasn't the type to enjoy getting up early, but he did like mornings. Since his arrival in the grand city, he'd loved the view from his bedroom window, and it frequently was the cause of his lateness to Arthur's chambers, rather than his unwillingness to get up.

The window faced eastward, giving him a divine view of the sunrise. Splashes of purple and orange streaked the sky, staining the clouds pink. Below, the city of Camelot was just waking up. The first few fires were being lit, sending spiraling streams of smoke up into the sky. The streets were still all but empty. The tiniest noises were audible in the peculiar silence that hung over them.

It was peaceful, and peace was something Merlin had long since learned to appreciate, mainly because—

"MERLIN!"

—because it didn't last long.

The warlock sighed. Perhaps if he just waited a few moments, he'd go away.

After a few beats of silence, Merlin almost started to grin. No one was coming. He turned back to his window.

"_MERLIN!_"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm coming!"

He quickly tugged a shirt over his head and tied his neckerchief, and he pushed his sleeves up as he used his shoulder to nudge open the door. His jacket lay forgotten on the bed.

Arthur was standing with Gaius at his brewing table, talking quietly. The conversation came to an abrupt end as soon as Merlin entered.

"Finally! Come along, Merlin, there's much to do and few left to do it."

"Is there a problem?" A draft from the window hit him, raising goosebumps on his arms. He wished he remembered his jacket, but figured it was probably too late to go and get it.

"We're under attack. An army is approaching from the northwest. We're outnumbered; we must prepare for siege."

Arthur was already walking towards the door as Merlin attempted to process the information.

"Wait, what?"

The king looked back, a touch of aggravation apparent on his features. "Well, come on then!"

Merlin hurried after him.

Just a moment of peace. That was all he had asked for.

xXx

Gaius set a steaming plate down in front of Merlin. His hand trembled slightly, and the warlock looked up with a furrowed brow.

"Are you alright, Gaius?"

Gaius glanced down at his charge. "Of course, I—" He stopped. "I just don't think this is going to go well. This is…it's different."

Merlin looked at his dinner, suddenly finding he wasn't hungry. "What do you mean?"

The physician sat down across from him. "What are you prepared to do? To protect Camelot? Or Arthur?"

He didn't have to think about it. "Whatever's necessary."

Gaius seemed satisfied, and he pushed Merlin's plate a little closer to him. "Eat. You'll need your strength."

"But what do you mean? Do you think I might have to…do you think he'll find out about my magic?"

"I just think you should prepare yourself."

Gaius clearly wouldn't be saying anything more on the subject, and Merlin didn't press any further. He still couldn't eat his dinner, though.

xXx

Merlin actually woke Arthur on time the next morning. Well, not that he needed to. The king was already wide awake, and judging by his attire, he hadn't actually gone to bed the night before.

They didn't speak at all while Merlin helped him with his chain mail. Merlin was halfway through fastening his armor before he gathered enough of his wits about him to even consider opening his mouth.

"Do me a favor?"

"Depends on what it is," Arthur shot back. Merlin gave him a look, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. I'll do it. What?"

Merlin frowned and briefly wished he hadn't said anything. "Just—I mean—just try to…" He avoided Arthur's gaze. "Remember this."

"What?"

"_This_. Remember this. Remember us. As we are now. Just do me a favor and enjoy the memory."

"Merlin…why are you saying this?"

"Because." He swallowed with some difficulty. "I'm sorry. But everything is about to change."

"What are you talking about?"

Merlin carefully ignored him, but his hands slipped on the buckles.

"_Merlin._" Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back towards the window. "Look at me. What are you talking about?"

"Just _this_. I don't know. Everything. It's not important. Forget I said anything."

Arthur scoffed. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Merlin grinned cheekily. "Thank you, sire. You're too kind." He went back to Arthur's armor. His hands were still shaking, but the king pretended not to notice.

xXx

"_So now what?"_

"_Now we wait."_

That brief exchange of dialogue had happened several hours before, and not a word had been spoken between the two since.

They're still a few miles out, the messengers said. They'll be here soon. Not yet.

Arthur just frowned out at the horizon, his hand clenched on Excalibur's hilt with a white-knuckled grip.

"Morgana leads them. And Mordred," Arthur suddenly broke the silence.

"I heard," Merlin replied softly.

"So we wait."

Nothing more needed to be said.

The first of the fires appeared on the horizon.

xXx

Gwen wasn't in a particularly good state of mind.

Her husband, her brother, and all of her closest friends were in grave danger, and all she could do was assist Gaius is the med tent.

"_They wouldn't fall. No matter how many times we struck, they wouldn't fall." The injured man looked up at her with haunted eyes. "Why wouldn't they die?"_

The stories that the fallen troops brought in did nothing to appease her.

Fire, Gaius said. Fire would kill them. Fire was their only hope. Gwen didn't like their odds. Fire as a weapon? It was precarious, dangerous, uncontrollable. And even beyond that, how was it to be transported to places where it might be of use? A torch would do little against an army.

"_The king? The king is at the northern front. The knights are with him. They're being swatted like flies up there. It's hopeless."_

Gaius had quickly shushed that man, but it was no use. No, Gwen wasn't doing particularly well.

She tied a bandage around a man's midriff just a little too tightly. He winced.

"I was with the king, m'lady. He was fine, last I saw him."

Her hands stilled for a moment, a smile fighting onto her features. She quickly regulated her expression and doubled up the man's wrappings.

"You'll be fine." She frowned as the man started to pick his sword back up. "And…thank you."

The man tipped his head in acknowledgement and pulled open the tent opening.

He didn't make it another step. An impossibly tall man with a cruelly blunt battle axe tore through the tent. It only took one blow to kill the young man.

The attacker left without doing any further damage.

It was only after he was gone and the young man's body done away with that the queen realized. His killer…he hadn't had a face. It wasn't as if it was just gone. It had rotted off. The murderer was no man. He was a corpse, and a long dead one by the looks of it.

"Oh, Arthur…" She pursed her lips as a little boy dragged another body in on a stretcher. _Please be careful. _The little boy screamed for help. No one had the heart to tell him his father was gone. _To hell with that,_ she thought morbidly_, just be alive._

xXx

Morgana just had to say a few sentences. That was the stupid thing. Her hands flew as if she was pushing something, she shouted something Arthur couldn't understand, and suddenly the earth was anywhere but below his feet.

Mordred was even worse. It wasn't even just his power, although he did have such terrible power. It was equal to, if not surpassing, Morgana's. It was the way he looked at him. The brokenness of the young man was suffocating to Arthur; the betrayal stung, but it hurt to even look at Mordred for another reason entirely. The sorcerer was so young, but deep down he was just as dead as his army was.

At this point, Arthur was fairly surprised that Merlin was still, well, alive. It was only halfway through the battle that he'd seen the manservant rather clumsily fighting off a man twice his size with his hastily made sword. Arthur had at that point wished fiercely that he'd had some chain mail made for him, at the very least. Worry wasn't something Arthur liked to feel, and it was making it a difficult to concentrate.

"_Per haec__magicae__verba__rithimo__,_" Morgana began to chant, and Mordred joined in after a brief pause, "_Elementum terrae,__voco__te__, j__ube__quod mea__Animusne cupiens__, i__am factus__realitate__m_."

It was a haunting sound. Their voices seemed to blend into one, and the power in the words was apparent, ancient and forever. A chill ran down Arthur's spine.

Morgana drew her hand up, slowly and pointedly, and then violently forward. The earth itself obeyed her command, and the remainder of Camelot's troops, including the king, fell.

Arthur's head slammed against the ground with a dangerous amount of force. Black spots danced before his vision, but he could see one thin, unarmed man standing before the two sorcerers. _Merlin_. The manservant couldn't fight them, he was defenseless, hapless. Arthur fought for his hold on consciousness. _Have to protect him…_

The blackness moved in quickly and ruthlessly; it was insatiable, and it took little more than a few seconds for Arthur to be claimed by the darkness.

Back in the waking world, Merlin just stared at the two, smirking like he knew something they didn't. Morgana found it oddly unsettling.

When he spoke, he didn't sound anywhere near as scared the sorceress thought he should. He only said one word.

"Well?"

* * *

**Still don't own Merlin, dammit. But anyway.**

**So, things are starting to pick up a little here, hopefully. I'm wrapping up chapter four, so with any luck it won't be long before that's out as well. This was my attempt at a cliffhanger, not sure how effective it was.  
**

**Thank you all for reading, you're all amazing. Reviews are always appreciated (hint, hint). Live long and prosper, people.  
**


	4. Fear and Melodrama

_Previously…_

_Merlin just stared at the two, smirking like he knew something they didn't. Arthur found it oddly unsettling._

_When he spoke, he didn't sound anywhere near as the king thought he should. He only said one word._

"_Well?"_

xXx

When Arthur next woke, the first thing he noticed was a definite ache in his limbs. Not the usual type of muscle soreness, though. He felt as if he had stayed in some awkward position for far too long. He attempted to move, but found that his arms, for some odd reason, were stretched uncomfortably above his head.

"Merlin!"

Well, that's what he tried to say. It came out as more of a garbled, "Mrrln?", and his supposedly forceful summoning of the manservant was a lot less dignified and a lot more confused.

"Oh, look at that," a feminine voice crooned sardonically, "His Majesty is waking up."

An icy hand roughly gripped his chin, forcing his head up. In his state of disorientation all he could make out was a blur of black, white, and blue.

"Don't touch him!" a different voice snarled from somewhere in front of Arthur, "Just you leave him!"

_Well, _Arthur mused to himself, _At least Merlin's still alive._ The king was actually a good deal more relieved about that than he would ever admit.

The woman who he now recognized to be Morgana laughed, but she did let go. "You're in no position to speak to me that way, Emrys."

_Emrys?_ Arthur tried to lift his head more. _Wasn't she talking to Merlin?_

There was a loud clash of metal on metal. "These won't last for much longer. You can't contain _me_." Arthur thought that that sounded suspiciously like arrogance. He wasn't sure what Merlin felt he had to brag about to these two. It was most likely ineffectual anyway.

Morgana turned to face the servant with what looked disturbingly close to fear painting her features, and Arthur took an opportunity to assess his surroundings.

They were in the citadel. The main throne room, to be exact. Mordred was standing on the other side of the room, right hand clenched on a thick chain that was attached to Merlin's left wrist. He had an identical chain on his right wrist. Two more were on either of his ankles. The servant wasn't looking all that well himself. He had a badly bleeding cut above his left eye, as well as a bruise just coming into view on his jaw. Something about the way he held his right arm suggested that it was also somehow injured.

Arthur fought down the surge of anger that hit him—they would really antagonize and torture _Merlin_, who was just a servant? It wasn't just cruel and unnecessary; it was unacceptable—and looked around at his own bindings.

Unlike Merlin, the king was just bound with ropes. His ankles were bound together behind him, leaving him propped up on his knees. His arms were strung up above his head, both of his wrists being bound to the cathedral-style columns on either side of him.

It didn't make any sense. They went to such trouble to keep Merlin heavily restrained and weighed down by chains, but his own bindings were so lax? He wasn't sure how to feel. For the most part, he was just a little offended. Was he really less of a threat than, well, _Merlin_? Of all people, they decide that _Merlin_ is more competent a fighter than him.

Morgana was still talking to the manservant, her derision apparent in her voice. "…so no, I don't care _who you are_. You may be strong, but you aren't stronger than…" She suddenly trailed off, a delighted smile spreading across her features and she looked back at Arthur. "_Oh…_ I think I understand now…" She turned back to Merlin. "He doesn't know yet, does he?"

Merlin looked…ashamed, if anything. "No."

The priestess laughed sneeringly. "You're losing everything today, Emrys." She advanced threateningly on him. "How does that make you _feel?_ Do you feel _alone? Angry_, perhaps? Like this is _out of your control, _like you're _out of options?_" Merlin didn't answer. "Maybe now you know how _I_ felt."

"Morgana…I'm _sorry_. You don't have to do…_this._ It's my fault. Not his, not Camelot's. Just take me, and leave. _Please._"

"Merlin?" Arthur found himself speaking without actually authorizing his lips to move. "What is she talking about? What…what don't I know?"

Merlin's chains fell from Mordred's hand with a clatter, and the sorcerer stepped forward. "What's she's talking about, _Your Majesty_, is Merlin. He's a sorcerer."

Morgana snorted. "At least do him justice, Mordred. He isn't _just_ a sorcerer. He's a _warlock_. He's _Emrys. _The Druids have been talking about him for centuries. Emrys, the most powerful of all."

"You're lying," Arthur immediately rebuked. Merlin just looked at the ground, shamefaced. "Merlin! Tell me she's lying."

The servant refused to meet his gaze.

"He can't, brother. And if he did, he'd be a liar. And you've lied to your king quite enough, haven't you, Emrys?"

A loud, booming knock sounded from the large, double-doors at the other end of the room. Morgana yelled something in an ancient-sounding language that Arthur couldn't make heads or tails of, and the doors slammed open.

Two brutish looking men walked in, dragging a small, struggling form between them. They stopped about twenty feet from where Mordred and Morgana stood just in front of the thrones.

After quick bow, they stepped back, revealing a boy. He couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Arthur was relatively sure he'd never seen him before, but from the stricken look on Merlin's face, the manservant had.

Arthur forcibly averted his eyes. He didn't even want to look at his manservant. The sorcerer. _The liar_.

"What's this?" Morgana asked authoritatively.

"We found 'im hiding in the kitchens, m'lady. Dunno who 'e is, an' he won't state his purpose or his name."

Mordred smirked cruelly, and Arthur no longer had to wonder; this was not the bright young man who had served him so loyally. "Well?" the former knight asked, "What are you waiting for?"

With a sinister chuckle, the larger of them men drew a wickedly sharp blade. Arthur hardly had the time for thick dread to drop into the pit of his stomach before he brought it down in a large sweep, taking off the boy's head in one blow. Blood pooled into a small lake around the body within seconds, and his face still had the shock and pain written all over it as his decapitated head rolled away from his prone body.

"Mileon!" A strangled shout escaped Merlin's lips, and he leveled his gaze with Mordred's. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, really?" He exchanged a look with Morgana. Well, it was actually more of a sneer. "And why's that?"

"Well, because." Merlin looked more pleased with himself than either of his enemies were comfortable with. "I did say that these wouldn't hold someone of my standing for very long. _Reico!_"

With a loud clap that sounded suspiciously like thunder, Merlin's chains collapsed into four small piles of silver powder, leaving little streams of smoke coming off of them. Arthur sighed inwardly. So that's what he meant about theatricality.

Morgana looked even whiter than usual. "You're still trapped, Emrys," she barked, but she sounded uncertain, "You can't beat both of us, and our army is surrounding the citadel. You can't win this."

"_Incændo._"

Arthur didn't have a very clear view of the skies outside, but there were windows in the throne up, high up where the walls met the high ceiling. The sky had been black; it was night. Now, it burned red as it filled with fire.

"Is that the _army_ you meant? Yes, I figured it out. They were brought back into life with a spark, and so they must meet their maker. Too easy, Morgana." He sounded almost sympathetic.

Morgana backed away a few steps; Merlin responded by advancing even further on her. "No matter," the sorceress cleared her throat, "It's no matter. You can't defeat us both, Emrys, even if you are as powerful as the Druids say."

"You don't sound sure," Merlin countered easily.

Mordred gripped Morgana's arm tightly. "We can't win this," he murmured. Arthur was certain that he had meant for neither the king nor the sorcerer—_warlock, _he bitterly corrected himself—to hear it.

Morgana glared at Merlin. Her words came out in a snarl that was almost incoherent. "You will live to regret this, _Emrys._"

"Looking forward to it," Merlin replied coldly.

The sorceress gripped Mordred's hand and recited something in the Old Language; both of them disappeared with an echoing bang, and the walls shook for a moment.

Merlin's eyes flashed golden and the ropes binding the king snapped easily. The ties on his wrists and ankles came undone and they fell off easily. Arthur stood a little shakily, rubbing at his chaffed wrists.

"Arthur, I—"

"_Don't_ _say anything_," he ordered harshly, but then he took a shaky breath, attempting to calm himself. This was no time for a lack of composure. "Morgana and Mordred left, and took their army with them. We don't know why. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that wasn't expected—"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"C-Covering. For me. What are you doing?"

Arthur's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Just keep your mouth shut, alright? I'd rather not have to burn you alive. I have enough blood on my hands as it is."

"I'm sorry, Arth—"

"I told you not to _speak!_" Arthur suddenly raised his voice to a near shout.

"Please, just—don't do this, just hear me out, Arthur, I can—"

"And don't call me that," the king's eyes flashed dangerously, "Only my friends call me Arthur."

And with that, Arthur swept out of the throne room to find his knights, leaving Merlin alone with nothing but a young boy's corpse and the broken wreckage of everything he thought he knew.

xXx

Guinevere had long since been ushered out of the castle, dressed once more as a simple peasant girl. The dress she wore was a pale lavender and white, and she tied an apron over the front just for good measure. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid. She did love Arthur, and she wouldn't give up her marriage for the world, but something about getting out of all layers and expensive fabrics that were a regular part of a noblewoman's attire made her feel more like herself, just regular old Gwen, than she had in a long while.

For so long, she had just been Arthur's Guinevere. She had left most of her old life behind, and with a stab of guilt, she realized she'd left her friends behind with it. Even Merlin. The last time they really spoke was before The Incident, as she thought of it. The Incident with Lancelot.

She'd even long since stopped telling him off for calling her 'my lady' or 'your majesty' or any other nonsense formalities that she used to brush off easily. She quietly promised herself that she'd put in an effort to change that; Merlin had been an extraordinarily good friend, and he deserved better than what he had.

It had taken her a while to calm down, even after they'd started back for the castle. "Arthur's alright," Leon kept saying, "He's fine." It was a little repetitive but she was grateful nonetheless; she had a feeling that if he didn't give her something to hold on to, she'd fall away at this point, and most likely she wouldn't return.

The last 48 hours had been one of the most straining times of her life. They were violent, frightening, fast-paced, and stressful, and at this point, the events were mostly just nonsensical.

Arthur had sent word that it was safe to return in some sort of code. Or perhaps she just had forgotten how to understand the English language, it was difficult to be sure. Sir Percival's cloak was wrapped around her shivering shoulders, and she wasn't quite sure when it had been placed there. She wondered if she might feel better if she wept, but she quickly decided against it. No point in losing her composure now, not after all the trouble she'd put into her relaxed stoicism.

What Guinevere really wanted was to see Arthur. She wanted to touch his face and kiss his lips and feel his heart beating beneath her fingers just to assure herself that _yes, he's alive, he's okay, everything's fine._ Leon would continue to say those things until they reached the castle, and she would still be grateful for it, but nothing will convince her of that until she sees her king with her own eyes.

The castle loomed in the distance, but she couldn't quite remember what one of the knights had told her; it may be much closer than it appeared, but it could also just be farther. She hoped it was closer, but she couldn't remember, and she was too exhausted to ask.

Camelot was covered in ash. _The army burned,_ Arthur's message had said. He didn't say how. But the ash came down from the sky like snow, hauntingly beautiful. _We're safe now_, he'd said as well. Guinevere doubted it, but it was a nice thought.

_Safe._ Perhaps she'd believe it later, but at that moment, the mere idea seemed laughable. Ash rained down from the sky and blood spattered the destroyed Lower Town, and the queen frowned as she looked upon it. There was no place for safety in a world such as that.

* * *

**Still don't own Merlin.**

**So, I didn't have as much trouble with the reveal scene as I expected. I really hope it turned out okay? But anyway, after that, I had a bit of a mishap with what came after. I rewrote Gwen's part at least five times, so I guess that was where this whole writer's block thing started.  
**

**I'm having a few problems with getting chapter five done, but I'll be working on that. I have my general plotline worked out, but the next chapter is just a bit of a filler, but necessary all the same. I've got maybe the first half written, but I'm kind of stuck at this point. I'm going to take another look at it as soon as I finish up with this A/N, which I will be doing right about now.  
**

**School is starting back up this next Monday, but with any luck I'll be able to keep my updates regular. Hope you all had a merry Christmas and a happy New Year and all that. Let's get ready to start overwriting '3's on top of our '2's when we write the date.  
**

**Reviews are always appreciated. Hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you all for reading.  
**


	5. Quiet Before the Storm

Merlin had wondered many, many times before about how Arthur would react once he found out about, well, everything.

It's not exactly something that's strange to wonder about. Arthur's reaction to magic was basically Merlin's future on a silver platter. He'd had it all worked out in his head; every single possible scenario, he was prepared to deal with all of them.

Firstly, there was what Merlin wanted to happen, though he in no way expected it to happen. He wished Arthur would accept it without much of a fight, and as an added bonus, that he'd legalize sorcery. The young warlock thought about that more than he should; what it would be like to no longer bear his secret upon his shoulders. He knew better than to hope for this. Reality was never so simple.

He considered Arthur's temper, his anger. He considered Arthur's father, and the way he had raised him. If Arthur's temper were to get the best of him, Merlin should expect the worst. Execution would mean death by fire or death by decapitation. Neither sounded pleasant, but Merlin knew that if Arthur called for his death, he would not resist him, although he could.

Banishment was another option. Again, Merlin would obey, but he would not wander far. Merlin was Camelot's first line of defense; if the kingdom was attacked, Merlin would want to be nearby to defend the people without Arthur ever having to know that he'd crossed the border.

He'd thought about how he'd be able to deal with it his king hated him, if he declared him a traitor. He wondered if he'd be accepted, if he'd be ostracized, if anything would be done. Merlin had been under the impression that he'd been ready for, if not prepared for, every single outcome of this revelation.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

He never hated anything quite as he hated this silence.

Silence was something he was relatively accustomed to. The calm before the storm, the pause before he drew in a breath and began an incantation, the deep quiet in the depths of the caves of Ealdor. He knew silence and he knew it well, but he had never known silence like this.

Arthur did nothing. That was one of the ridiculously numerous outcomes that Merlin had foreseen, but that was not all that came. Arthur had quickly seen to it that Merlin's injuries were being taken care of, and then the most Merlin had gotten from him were clipped orders, nothing more.

It hurt more than he expected. A lot more.

Cook shoved a heavy tray into his hands. "Stop loiterin', boy," she gestured towards the tray, "The king's dinner. See that he gets it."

Merlin nodded amiably enough, but he sent a glare at her the moment her back was turned. It was as satisfying as it normally was.

He knocked thrice on Arthur's door, and after a strained pause, the king called, "Enter!"

Merlin obeyed with his head held down and his eyes focused on the floor. Considering his usual clumsiness, it was a miracle that he didn't trip and crack his skull, but he managed to make his way to the table without any serious accidents. He placed the tray on the table admittedly gracelessly, and offered a small bow before making his way back to the door.

Like a proper manservant.

As he opened the door to exit, he heard the bedframe creak slightly as Arthur moved to stand.

"Merlin—"

"Ah, yes, sire?" He turned back to face the king.

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing. Nevermind. I—Nothing. You're dismissed."

Merlin nodded, but forgot to bow again. "Alright." He winced. "My lord."

He tried to be surreptitious about having fled the room.

xXx

The year before, Arthur had dragged Merlin along on one of his many hunts. It was far too late in the year for such activities; late October, and the snow was about to start falling. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out to do any such thing until the next spring, Arthur had hoped to get out on one last hunt before it was too late.

Miles out into the forest, they were caught in the middle of a wretched snowstorm. Merlin had been the one that managed to find them shelter in a cold, dank cave. Neither of them was able to sleep, and in the middle of the night, huddled together to warmth, Merlin had posed a question.

"_If I could get us out of here, would you want me to?"_

"_What are you on about now, Merlin?" Arthur sounded half asleep, but a touch of fond exasperation still made its way into his voice._

"_I just mean—just what if—if I could get us out of here, but not with a method that you would—that you would usually approve of, would you still want me to do it?"_

_Arthur shifted around so he could get a better look at his manservant. "Why?" The annoyance was gone, replaced by genuine curiosity._

"_Just wondering, I guess."_

"_Just wondering?" Arthur scoffed. "You've got to give me something better than that."_

"_Seriously. It's just a question." Merlin pursed his lips, wondering if perhaps he should have kept them shut._

"_Well," Arthur started, slightly hesitantly, "The way I see it…if you've got some kind of a—an ability, or whatever you want to call it, if you've got something you can do to help people, whether it's you and I or anyone else, you should use it. Helping people is more important than what anyone else believes about your methods. It's always more important."_

"_Mm."_

"_Do you not agree?"_

"_No, I do. It's just…nice to hear that. From you. Or, well, from anyone. It's just—nice. That's all."_

_Arthur shifted again, this time moving a little closer. Grateful for the body heat, both pretended not to notice the sudden proximity. The king gripped Merlin's shoulder tightly, managing to catch Merlin's eye even in the fading firelight. As they caught the light, the manservant's eyes looked almost golden._

_Once again, Arthur found that there were far too many things he wanted to say. This happened far too often with Merlin, he realized. Perhaps it would be easier to say none of them, rather than embarrass himself by saying all of them._

"_You should get some sleep," he told him with an air of finality, "We have to get back to Camelot tomorrow before Guinevere starts panicking."_

_Merlin nodded his agreement, and if he leaned in a bit more towards the king as he tried to make himself more comfortable, well, there was nothing wrong with that._

Thinking back on this, on all of the strange things he'd heard from Merlin throughout the years that he had known him, Arthur wondered how he hadn't been able to see it before.

He had never even considered the possibility that Merlin was committing treason of any sort. This was _Merlin_, even if he had magic. It was just that…

Well, he had magic. It's just that.

And he had _lied about it_. Arthur had been lied to far too many times to take this lightly. He didn't know what he felt; he couldn't just come back from this. Merlin just kept on looking at him with those sad, sad blue eyes and it made him want to forget about all of this, but…

He could not, and he would not. This would not just be painted over and disregarded. Arthur intended to take all the time he needed.

xXx

"Oi! Merlin!"

Maisy's soft voice barely reached his ears in the cacophony that was the palace kitchens during dinner hour. Turning around involved narrowly ducking under the heavily laden silver platter that one of the older butlers was carrying to the chambers of some noble or other—Merlin really didn't care who—so rather than replying directly he ducked around the corner to get out of harm's way.

Merlin turned to face her once he was out into the mostly uninhabited corridor. Maisy was a young serving girl of fourteen years, who was usually favored by Queen Guinevere. She and Mileon—Merlin scarcely dared to even _think_ the boy's name—were intended to marry. The pair of them had been the closest of friends, and now that her betrothed had become little more than a martyr (and what is martyrdom worth, especially in the face of life?), she frequented Merlin's side. The warlock didn't mind her presence, though after all that had happened, he could hardly bear to look her in the eye. She was lonely, and seeing as he was someone who was more than familiar with the feeling, he saw himself as being in no position to deny her such a small comfort.

(However, he dearly hoped that his suspicions that she expected him to replicate Mileon's position in her life exactly were mistaken. He wasn't so much older than her that it would be by any means unprecedented—if anything, it would be expected— and considering their shared social standing it would be almost practical, but it was most definitely not something that the warlock in question desired.)

"Didja already take His Majesty his dinner?" she asked, her coarse commoner's lilt apparent in her voice.

"Yeah, half an hour ago. You're heading up to the queen's?" he replied, gesturing to the tray in her arms.

"Yup. She asked me at midday to see that you went up to speak with her, but I couldn't find you till right now. Where've you been?"

Merlin shrugged. "Ah, with His Majesty." That was a blatant lie, but he wasn't about to tell her that he'd been sulking in his room since breakfast, to the point that he'd even gotten a different servant to bring Arthur his lunch. "The queen asked for _me_? Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. 'S not that odd, is it? Weren't you two mates, way back when?"

He gave another shrug. "Way back when." His deeply hidden chivalrous side kicking in, he stopped Maisy with a touch on the shoulder. "Here, I'll carry that for you." He hated the hope it put into her eyes, but it was the least he could do, and the tray did look quite heavy.

The walk up to the queen's chambers was passed mostly in comfortable silence, broken only occasionally by a soft comment or a question. Maisy knocked on the sanded wooden door with a proud flourish that almost made Merlin smile. He had long since forgotten—assuming that he had ever known it—whatever 'honor' some of the palace staff felt came with serving the royal family.

"Come in!" Guinevere called pleasantly.

"My lady," Maisy greeted her with a curtsy, "Your supper. And I found Merlin as you requested."

"Thank you, Maisy," the queen replied with a soft smile, making Merlin wonder if this was what it was like serving nobles that weren't Arthur. In his whole time working for the king, he was relatively sure he had never once heard such a phrase as 'thank you'.

If the present circumstances were any different, perhaps Merlin would have resented that. As it was, the warlock was too guilty to resent Arthur for much of anything.

The maidservant bowed her head respectfully and left the queen's chambers.

Merlin set the tray down on her table, surveying the room. He'd accompanied Arthur here many times, but he'd rarely actually been inside. The large bed, made up in white and purple sheets and overhung by a lavender canopy, stood out on the relatively clear floor. It was properly cleaned, unlike Arthur's. Well, Arthur's chambers were cleaned as of late, but that was mostly Merlin being too scared to be anything other than the perfect manservant.

The warlock wouldn't know this for a while, but his sudden competence was actually disturbing Arthur. His ineptitude was one of the main things that Arthur knew about him, and with it suddenly being gone, Arthur was even further alienated.

"If that is all, my lady…," Merlin stated respectfully, allowing the half-finished sentence to hang in the air. When Gwen had first been crowned, to use such titles seemed superfluous and unnatural, but by then, it came to him naturally.

"Ah, not quite, Merlin. Why don't you take a seat?"

Merlin frowned confusedly, but obeyed. "Your Majesty…?"

The table "Oh, please, there's no need for that. Just Gwen, like old times, remember?"

The servant's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly breached his hairline. "Alright..."

The queen watched him for a moment, finding herself saddened by his skepticism. "It's been a while since we last spoke, hasn't it?"

"I suppose so, yes." He shrugged. "Been busy."

Gwen sat across from him, staring earnestly at him with wide eyes. She looked a bit more like the kind-hearted maidservant he'd once known, rather than the respected queen she was now. She had changed so much from the young girl he'd known, and yes, she had changed for the better, and yes, he was happy for her and Arthur, so happy, but he no longer felt that he had a place in her life. Now that he thought of it, much of the palace staff probably felt that way. _Nobility must be a lonely business_, he mused with a frown. Gwen didn't seem to know what to say, so he decided to speak instead.

"Look, Gwen, times are changing. You're the queen. You oughtn't to be seen consorting with the likes of me. The people are hesitant enough about putting a servant on the throne without them thinking you aren't embracing nobility."

Gwen looked at him with a gleam in her eye. "Merlin, I want the people to be able to put their trust in the fact that one of _them_ is queen, rather than some princess or duchess or something from somewhere far away who couldn't hope to understand what they go through. It may be a lot to ask, but I want them to be _happy_ that there's a servant on the throne. I have no intention of turning away from my old life." She paused, a frown encompassing her features. "However, as unintentional as it may have been, I have turned away from you, and for that I am truly sorry."

Merlin stared at her for nearly twenty seconds, his mouth hanging open just slightly. When at last he started to speak, he found his throat felt oddly tight. "You—you needn't apologize, Gwen. It—" He stopped, and made no move to complete his sentence.

They took the next thirty minutes to catch up before Gwen brought up the thing that had been troubling her for almost two months.

"So, Merlin…" Her general countenance sobered greatly. "Is there anything the matter between you and Arthur?"

His reaction to the question was completely dissimilar to Arthur's. The king's eyes had narrowed, his posture becoming guarded, hands curling into fists. Merlin's eyes widened almost comically, his breath catching, and an indescribable emotion passed over his face (guilt? Sadness? Anger? She couldn't be sure). In his shock, he became vulnerable.

However, both answered in the same way.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," she answered quietly, carefully, as she had answered Arthur a week earlier, "You've just seemed…off around him is all. Have you had a falling out?"

Merlin shrugged, suddenly appearing surly. "Maybe. I don't know." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I should be getting home, it's late. At this rate if Gaius needs me to clean out the leech tank, I'll be up half the night doing it." He forced a smile; it turned out as more of a grimace.

"Yes, yes of course, you're right." Merlin stood, offering her a smile that was far more sincere than the last one.

"Oh, and Merlin!" He turned. "Try not to be seen on the way out, would you?"

"Thought you weren't embarrassed by me."

She was about to start rambling off apologies, but then she noticed the wry smile on his face. Gwen grinned. "Well, it wouldn't be particularly proper for the queen to be taking a gentleman caller at this time of night."

Merlin snorted. "I'm hardly a gentleman." He closed the door behind him with a gentle _click_.

xXx

Powerful magic can take a physical toll, especially when used in bursts, as Merlin had done. After his ordeal in the throne room, he slept for upwards of four days, waking only briefly to hastily eat before he dropped back into unconsciousness.

Morgana and Mordred may not have used as much power, and especially not all at once, but both were still exhausted. After their failed attack, a few days were allotted for distrust and apprehensions to be momentarily set aside, so they could combine efforts and heal—together.

The priestess made two steaming goblets of a bitter herbal tea that her fallen sister had taught her about, and Mordred didn't feel the need to hesitate or check for poison in the liquid before he drank it, and he had to admit, it did make him feel stronger. Mordred tiredly threw together an energy-replenishing potion that the Druids had taught him about when he was just a boy, and left a dose at Morgana's bedside for when she woke.

That only lasted three days, and once again, Morgana was angry and Mordred, well, he was just brooding.

"We need _allies._ We need surprise. And we need to get rid of Emrys. I can't understand why Arthur hasn't had him killed yet. He hasn't even been arrested!" Morgana turned to Mordred, a manic glint in her eye. "Perhaps Emrys has wiped his memory?"

"Or perhaps you underestimate the king. Perhaps he's accepted him. Which would only make them—"

"—all the more dangerous, yes, I know." She threw herself into an armchair. She'd carefully positioned it at the front of the room, like a seat at the head of a table, placing her in a position of authority. Even in their makeshift hovel, she demanded her throne.

"Then what do we do?"

Morgana leveled her gaze with his, and for the moment, her eyes were clear of the usual anger, the lies, the pride. "I think that I should be asking you that."

Mordred smirked to himself, because she was right and now they both knew it. "Strength in numbers is clearly not something we can rely on; we need strength in—well, in strength. Power. We need sorcerers. We should appeal to the Fae. They never particularly favored Camelot. And…"

The sorceress frowned. "And what? Do get on with it, Mordred."

"I think we should summon the children of Typhon."

* * *

**So, bringing some Greek mythology into it.**

**I don't know if I liked this chapter, to be honest. I felt like it got kind of dull towards the middle and maybe dragged on a bit, but I'll let you be the judge of that.  
**

**I've started chapter six, so that'll be out relatively soon. School is starting again tomorrow and why does this website think that again isn't a word...oh nevermind.  
**

**But anyway, chapter six is being difficult, but I'll try to get that out soon. School shouldn't interfere with my updating schedule too much but we'll see about that. If it gets to that point, I'll probably start writing chapters in the middle of geometry and hope that no one notices because that could be a little embarrassing.  
**

**Live long and prosper.  
**


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